


From the Petals of Cactus Flowers

by Cinnamongirl



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I am so sorry, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Viddathari Inquisitor, even though it's mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamongirl/pseuds/Cinnamongirl
Summary: What if the Inquisitor was secretly a Qunari spy?Soren Trevelyan was a Viddathari agent who was sent to the Conclave to spy on the Chantry. After everything literally blew up in his face, The Iron Bull was sent to join the Inquisition and facilitate communication between Trevelyan and the Ben-Hassrath.It's only logical for them to pretend to be lovers, just as an excuse for why they spend so much time alone together. They aren't actually falling in love. The Qun doesn't allow that.





	From the Petals of Cactus Flowers

_Solitude is illusion. Alone in the darkness,_  
I was surrounded on all sides.  
The starlight dripped from the petals  
Of cactus flowers,  
A chorus of insects sang across the dunes. 

-From the Body Canto

 

Those that follow the Qun say that any reasonable person should want to be Qunari, regardless of their background, but the reality is that the Viddathari are almost always former slaves or people who come from a life of crushing poverty. Why, then, would the spoiled youngest son of a noble family throw it all away to join the Qun?

He was born with a name that he hated and a family who yelled at and berated him whenever they weren't ignoring him entirely. His family lived in a large, ornate house with several rooms that were never used, even though there were people sleeping in the streets outside. They threw away food every day and bought new clothes every season. His parents were gone as often as possible and when they were home, his father drank himself into a stupor and his mother screamed at everyone within earshot. It wasn’t just his immediate family; all of his extended relatives were obsessed with appearances and petty grudges, and he could never manage to keep track of which aunts and uncles he was supposed to hate and which he was expected to gain the favor of. They placed strict emphasis on manners and decorum whenever they were in public but they didn’t hesitate to insult, steal from, and sometimes even try to kill each other when they thought they could get away with it.

He was expected to study the Chant of Light and sit perfectly still during endless services, because his family was well-known for being devout Andrastians. It was obvious that either the Chantry sisters were all very stupid, or they had no problem with kowtowing to blatantly cruel people as long as they were wealthy, and he couldn’t decide which was worse. For that matter, he could never understand why anyone would want to worship a Maker who had abandoned them.

The final straw came when he heard his mother yelling at his older sister Else to “keep quiet and stop making a scene” after their uncle forced himself on her. He vowed that he would kill his uncle once he was old enough and strong enough, and then he would leave his family behind forever.

His primary responsibility as the youngest son was to stay out of trouble and avoid causing embarrassment for his family, so he had ample free time to practice with his bow and his knives. He spent more time away from home and soon learned that the corruption he’d witnessed wasn’t unique to his family, or even to the city where he lived. There was something fundamentally _wrong_ with society but nobody seemed to care.

His uncle died of a mysterious illness before he came of age. He never found out for sure, but he hoped that Else had managed to poison him. 

 

He was already a talented archer by the age of 19, when he sold everything he owned except for some weapons and left in the middle of the night in search of somewhere in the world that hadn’t been destroyed by corruption. He went north, without any particular destination in mind. 

He quickly learned that the evils of the world weren’t limited to the nobility. No matter where he went, people would attack each other with the slightest provocation and wouldn’t hesitate to steal if they thought they could get away with it. He stood out as an easy target--a young rich man with pale skin and bright red hair, out in the world for the first time--and his knives saved his life more times than he liked to think about. Eventually, he learned how to be silent and nearly invisible unless he wanted to attract attention to himself, and how to dress and act in order to fit in wherever he went.

His journey led him to Rivain, which wasn’t any better than anywhere else he’d been, but it was there that he first met the Qunari. He’d heard the stories about “savage horned giants” as a boy, but he hadn’t really thought about them in years. It was a shock to realize that the Qunari seemed to have all of the answers he’d been looking for. Everyone in the Qun had a role, and everybody was important. They weren’t greedy or cruel or senselessly violent and nobody had to starve in the street. He asked to join them as soon as he found out that they accepted human converts.

The Qunari didn’t care about his family, or how much money he had, or where he came from, or even his name. The only thing that mattered was his willingness to devote his life to the Qun. On the day he converted, he lost everything and gained a new name: Viddathari.

He never regretted his decision for a moment, but that didn’t mean that it was always easy. It was difficult to get used to spending most of the day doing menial labor, and even more difficult to get used to taking orders from elves. When he wasn’t working, he spent time learning to speak Qunlat and studying the Qun. It was explained to him that he would only be permitted to learn a small fraction of it at this point, but more would be available to him if he needed to know it.

The Tamassrans noticed his skill with a bow and his ability to hide in plain sight and decided to assign him to the Ben-Hassrath. His new role was Tallis, assassin. The childhood that he’d hated so much was a valuable asset because it allowed him to infiltrate human lands and blend in with the nobility. Over several years, he proved himself by succeeding at increasingly difficult and important assignments: to learn information, to retrieve documents or items, and to kill when necessary. It brought him satisfaction to be able to use the worst parts of his life for the good of the Qun, but his time spent among the Qunari made him even more disgusted by the corruption in the South.

 

He was sent to Ferelden to observe the Conclave and report back about it to the Ben-Hassrath. This was a significant event that could influence the course of events in the Andrastian parts of Thedas and the Ben-Hassrath wanted to know how it would affect the Qun. It was explained to him that this would be an important mission, but it wasn’t going to be a particularly difficult one. He didn’t even have to talk to or kill anybody, just listen and remember.

It felt like the Conclave had barely even started when he was waking up in a cell and being interrogated by representatives from the Chantry. His first thought was that he’d been discovered, but he realized that his captors had no idea that he was affiliated with the Qunari. Something terrible had happened and he was somehow being blamed for it. 

“Explain this.” She clearly expected an answer and he had to make a judgment call very quickly. He thought about the briefing before he left for the Conclave, where he’d been told that if something went wrong, he was to await further instructions and to maintain his cover for as long as possible.

He gave his most charming smile and a name that he hadn’t thought about in over ten years. “My name is Soren Trevelyan. I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t remember anything about what happened.”

 

He had no idea what to do and it was _terrifying_. There was no way to contact the Ben-Hassrath without being discovered, so he did and said whatever the Chantry wanted him to do until he’d somehow been named the Herald of Andraste.

When asked about his background, he told the truth as much as possible, justifying his decade-long absence by saying that he went through a period of drinking and whoring before he had a religious epiphany and decided to devote his life to serving the Maker, which is why he was at the Conclave. The Chantry concluded that the mark on his hand was obviously a sign that Andraste herself was pleased with his return to faith and had personally chosen him for an important mission.

He loudly proclaimed the glory of the Maker wherever he went and tried to do everything he could to heal the rifts in the sky. The demons that poured through them were surely a threat to the Qun as much as they threatened everyone else. 

Every night before he went to sleep, he silently repeated the Cantos to himself.

Word of the Inquisition spread and his family made contact with him, but they only seemed interested in taking advantage of his newfound fame and influence. He suspected that most of them hadn’t even realized that he’d been gone. He did find out that Else had moved to Antiva and was now a poet and minstrel of some renown. The rest of the family was apparently furious that she ignored all of their attempts to contact her. It seemed like a frivolous way to make a living, but he was quietly pleased to think that crowds of people were listening to her now.

 

He had almost settled into a routine by the time he met Hissrad on the Storm Coast. He didn’t know Hissrad very well but he’d heard of his reputation for being a genius who consistently got good results, despite his unconventional methods. The first sign of contact from the Ben-Hassrath was such a relief that he could’ve kissed Hissrad’s ugly face right there in front of everyone.

“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” It looked like Hissrad was winking, but it was difficult to tell with the eye patch. “I’m the Iron Bull. Let’s go sit down.”

Hissrad explained, loudly, that he was the captain of a mercenary company and was offering to work for the Inquisition. In a voice that was slightly less loud but still audible to everyone around them, he admitted that he was part of the Ben-Hassrath and had been ordered to join the Inquisition and report back about what was happening.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m comfortable having a Qunari spy around.” He also spoke loudly, trying to sound concerned. “I suppose you can join us, but I’ll be watching you.”

They made camp later that night. He left his tent once it was dark and saw that Hissrad was already waiting for him. They walked away from the camp in silence before Hissrad finally spoke up. “I take it the assignment didn’t exactly go to plan?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened but I ended up with this _thing_ on my hand and I didn’t know what to do so I’ve been playing along with them and-”

“Relax, you’re doing great.” Hissrad rested a large, warm hand on his shoulder.

“Really?”

“The world’s gone to shit and there are demons everywhere, but you’ve got the Chantry eating out of your hand. We couldn’t have placed you better if we’d planned this.” 

Hissrad’s voice sounded so proud that he nearly started crying in relief. “I’ve just never been on my own for so long.”

“I’ve got your back now. You’ll be great.”

The plan was for Hissrad to openly communicate with the Ben-Hassrath, while privately relaying instructions back to him. His primary objective was to work with the Inquisition to seal the Breach, but he was also tasked with obtaining any information that he could about the Chantry as long as he could do so safely. It was by far the most important mission that he’d ever been involved in.

With Hissrad’s help, he saved the Templar Order from demonic influence and welcomed them as allies of the Inquisition. It seemed like a choice that “Soren Trevelyan the devout Chantry boy” would make, and the templars were probably their best hope of combating the demons.

He expected to close the Breach and then return to Par Vollen as quickly as possible but a new enemy appeared and he became the Inquisitor, with a new base of operations and more influence. 

He decorated Skyhold with Andrastian designs and made sure to be seen attending Chantry services as much as possible. He tried to talk with his companions and help them with their own problems as much as he could, as long as it didn’t conflict with his own goals.

On the advice of Hissrad, he tried to befriend the spymaster Leliana. She was harsh and mistrusting but he prayed with her, talked about archery, brought her wine and reminded her to take breaks when she was working late. She was always cautious but she gradually started opening up to him more about her work. She even asked for his advice on the occasions when she doubted her own judgment. He spent so much time in the rookery that her agents didn’t think it was strange to find him there on his own, ostensibly waiting for Leliana to return. He memorized every document that he was able to look at, so that he could copy them down later to send to the Ben-Hassrath along with notes about all of her agents and his recommendations about the best ways to infiltrate her network. 

Josephine’s trust was easier to gain. After spending all day politely listening to the demands of various nobility, she was desperate for the attention of anyone who would speak respectfully and listen to her without asking her to do anything. He brought her chocolates when she’d had a long day and brandy when she’d had an especially long day and it wasn’t long before he and the Ben-Hassrath were privy to information about assassinations, secret alliances, and political upheavals that almost nobody else in Thedas was aware of.

Among the other members of his inner circle, Cassandra was the most honorable and probably the most trustworthy, even though she would have turned on him immediately if she knew his true identity. Blackwall was loyal, and almost as skilled a warrior as she was. It was a pity that their skills were wasted here when they would have been put to better use in the Qun. 

Sera was undisciplined and untrustworthy but she was a useful ally and she always made him laugh. He apparently reminded Varric of Sebastian Vael, which was probably supposed to be an insult. 

He was reluctant to recruit the circle mage Vivienne. It was too dangerous to have mages running around freely, especially with so many demons, and her vanity and ambition seemed to represent everything that was wrong with the South. The problem was that he couldn’t think of a way to reject a staunch Chantry loyalist without attracting suspicion, and he had to admit that she was the most reasonable out of all of the mages he’d met here. Still, he had to draw the line somewhere and he refused to accept the Tevinter mage who tried to join the Inquisition. He immediately mistrusted the apostate Solas and he had to restrain himself from attacking him when Solas started criticizing the Qun, but the fact that Solas had saved his life meant that he apparently couldn’t send him away. He and Hissrad decided that Solas was most likely possessed and they kept their distance from him as much as possible.

He thought that there had also been something about a demon, but he couldn’t remember.

Hissrad was the only reason why any of it was bearable. They met wherever they could find privacy, frequently in his room or up on the ramparts where they could look out over everyone. Hissrad could always tell whenever he was having a particularly difficult time and tried to lift his spirits with beer and bad jokes. Even when they just made small talk, it was the only time that he could truly be himself.

It was Leliana who tactfully suggested that he and Iron Bull might want to be more careful if they didn’t want to be discovered.

“What do you mean?” he asked, mentally plotting out three different ways to escape and seven different ways to kill her. If she’d wanted to kill him, she wouldn’t have warned him first, so she was either planning to blackmail him or she didn’t actually know anything yet.

“People have noticed the two of you sneaking off together. You’ve been subtle, but not that subtle.” She smiled conspiratorially. “You actually might want to think about being more open. You have a reputation for being rather uptight, but a secret Qunari lover makes you look more approachable.”

“A- lover?!” His voice almost squeaked on the word.

“Don’t worry, I’m hardly one to judge you. We all have our vices, and exotic taste in men is hardly the worst of them.” 

“But we’re not-” He realized that Leliana had no idea about his affiliation with the Qun, and that she’d actually handed him a perfect excuse for why he and Hissrad spent so much time alone together. He gave an embarrassed grin. “Thanks for warning me. We’ll try to be more discreet from now on.”

His first thought was that he had no idea why anyone would believe that a serious, devout nobleman was having sex with a hedonistic Tal-Vashoth mercenary. His second thought was that sex with Hissrad would probably be _amazing_. Hissrad was talented at almost everything, and so perceptive- if he put as much effort into his lover’s pleasure as he did into everything else he did, the experience would be nothing short of mind-blowing.

He went straight to the tavern to talk to Hissrad. He was in his usual chair, drinking and listening. Hissrad had once told him that he could hear almost everything that happened in the building from there. 

“Hey boss, what can I do for you?” 

“Can we speak privately?” 

“Sure thing.” 

Krem cackled at them and he swore he could hear someone say “Get it, Trevelyan!” but he ignored them as he and Hissrad walked upstairs to Hissrad’s bedroom. How had he not realized before that they spent so much time alone together in bedrooms? 

“What’s going on? Did something happen?” 

“Leliana said that people think we’re, ah, sleeping together.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Well, no, but- you’re not surprised?”

“People have been wondering for a while. I think you just confirmed it, when you dragged me off to bed in the middle of the day.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Nah, it doesn’t bother _me_. I’ve always had a thing for redheads, anyway.” He said this in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal either way.

“I was thinking that it might actually be a good idea for us to go along with the rumors, or at least to not discourage them.”

“You want to pretend that I’m fucking you?” Hissrad was grinning now.

He felt himself blushing. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

“Sure.” Hissrad looked him up and down. “It’s a good alibi, and I could definitely do a lot worse.”

 

The Qun understood that many people craved sex, but it also understood that sex could cause a lot of problems if people were allowed to just sleep with whomever they wanted. Sex for procreation was done as efficiently as possible and always under the direction of the Tamassrans, in order to ensure optimal breeding and genetic diversity. Sex for recreation was also done under the direction of the Tamassrans. It was fast, or slow, or whatever was needed, but there wasn’t any feeling to it beyond a casual friendliness. 

The Qun also understood that many people fell in love at some point in their lives. Qunari were encouraged to love each other, but everyone understood that the group as a whole came first. To split off into pair bonds like the Southerners did meant putting one person ahead of everyone else, which could only lead to chaos and pain.

He’d always thought of his parents, who had ostensibly married for love but hated each other and made everyone else around them miserable. As in everything else, the Qunari way of doing things was obviously superior.

 

After their conversation, he and Hissrad made sure to stand a little too close to each other during meetings and share tents while they were traveling. They were more obvious about entering and leaving each others’ rooms at odd hours. One time, when they were out in the courtyard observing Cullen training his soldiers and going over their plans for the upcoming event at the Winter Palace, Hissrad leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Mind if I slap your ass right now?”

“Go ahead.”

The _crack_ of Hissrad’s hand against his backside seemed deafening, even though it probably wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the swords clashing. He could hear himself whimper softly as the sharp pain made him feel hot all over. “What was that about?”

“Don’t turn around, but some people were watching us.”

The public display seemed to confirm in the eyes of the public that they were indeed involved with each other. Varric teased him affectionately while Sera made loud and graphic speculations about how large Hissrad’s cock must be. He could sometimes overhear people in the great hall whispering about their forbidden love affair, but it didn’t seem to have a negative effect on his reputation.

Josephine agreed. “Everyone enjoys scandalous gossip,” she explained, “and this is fairly innocuous as far as scandals go, but it’s enough to make you look like you aren’t perfect. You’ve returned to Andraste but you haven’t completely abandoned all of your old habits.”

 

At the Winter Palace, he played the Game perfectly and charmed everyone up until the point where he let the Empress get assassinated and supported Gaspard’s claim to the throne. The Grand Duke had been clear about his plans to invade Ferelden, and the Ben-Hassrath felt that a war between Orlais and Ferelden would weaken both nations and make it easier for the Qun to conquer them in the future.

Hissrad joined him on the balcony afterward.

“Dance with me?” he asked.

“I’d love to.” 

It wasn’t much of a dance, without much room to move around on the small balcony and the music from inside barely audible. They held each other and swayed back and forth for the benefit of anyone who was watching through the frosted glass windows. “You did well,” Hissrad said. “I was almost worried that the Duchess was going to kill you back there.”

“She was no match for us.” In truth, he was only alive because of several healing potions and a few lucky shots, but he felt giddy with their victory.

“I’ve said it before, but I’m really impressed with everything you’re doing. I know this is bigger than anything else you’ve been part of.”

“You too,” he said, “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.” He allowed himself to lean into the solid mass of Hissrad’s body. “I also can’t believe you’re actually wearing a shirt.”

“Yeah, well, apparently the sight of me is too much for all these nobles to handle.”

“Their loss.” He said it without really thinking about it, then worried that he’d gone too far.

Hissrad only chuckled in response.

 

They fought a dragon together. Hissrad had been making unsubtle comments about how he really wanted to do it and how it was apparently an important part of being Qunari. Besides, the world would surely be safer with fewer of them around. 

It was a brutal fight but they were more than a match for the beast. Hissrad took the final blow, slicing through the dragon’s front leg and into its neck when it bent down in pain, and then the dragon finally collapsed on the ground. He was completely unprepared for Hissrad to drop his axe and grab him for a kiss. 

It was for the benefit of their companions, obviously. It was just part of their story, but that didn’t explain why he could feel Hissrad’s tongue. The kiss went on for what felt like forever, until he finally heard Sera yelling “Eugh, get a room!” 

They pulled apart. He felt hot and shaky and more turned on than he should have been from just a kiss.

“Sorry,” Hissrad muttered below his breath. “Should’ve asked first.”

“It’s fine,” he whispered back.

He busied himself with skinning the dragon and giving orders to send as many usable parts as possible back to Skyhold. 

 

They celebrated back at Skyhold with drinks and a blow-by-blow recounting of their fight. “Remember when it breathed fire?” Hissrad asked, sweeping his arm out dramatically as if to demonstrate. He let Hissrad wrap his arm around him and pull him to his chest. They were both touching each other more than they should, but their covers would be drunk and handsy right now, wouldn’t they? He could feel the slightly raised areas on Hissrad’s skin where he was tattooed.

He was actually getting drunk at an alarming rate, because maraas-lok was as efficient as everything else the Qunari did. Hissrad’s body was very close and distractingly warm. He’d been careful not to let anybody know that he understood Qunlat, but he allowed himself to shout “Anaan!” just once and in that moment, it felt like victory.

With his head still spinning from the drink, he was the one who started the kiss this time. He had to stand up to grab Hissrad’s shoulders and smash their faces together without any of his usual dexterity. Hissrad made a surprised noise at first, but then he started kissing back fiercely and grabbed his ass. It was all he could do to not climb into Hissrad’s lap right there in the tavern.

“Seriously, get a room!” It was Sera again. 

He was still leaning against Hissrad but the moment was over. He stumbled a bit as he followed Hissrad back up to his room, not even really sure why he was doing it. 

“Dragons, right?” Hissrad’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Dragons,” he agreed, and then “When you spanked me the other day. I can’t stop thinking about that.”

“I figured you’d like that.” His voice was soft but wicked. “That’s what you’d want if we were doing this for real, wouldn’t you? You’d want me to spank your ass while I fucked you until you screamed for me. Maybe I’d even tie you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he gasped.

“Shit, sorry.” Hissrad cleared his throat. “Uh, do you want to sleep here? I’ll be back later. Think I need some air.”

“No, I’ll leave.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes, see? I’m hardly drunk anymore.” They both knew it was a lie but Hissrad didn’t stop him from going.

It took all of his stealth abilities to get back to his own room without anyone noticing. He felt stupid and guilty. He had been in the South too long. They both had, probably. He needed more training, or probably re-education, and the right thing to do would be to turn himself in, but he was committed to seeing this through. They could get through this without allowing themselves to get any more compromised. 

Once he was in his room, he shoved his pants down and got himself off in what couldn’t have been more than a minute. He wasn’t aware of anything else until he woke up the next morning, sticky and hungover with his pants still around his knees.

 

Hissrad informed him, loudly and in public, that the Qun was interested in a formal, open alliance with the Inquisition, and would the Inquisitor be open to something like that? He pretended to think it over before stating that he wasn’t ready to agree to anything, but he would be willing to at least meet with the Qunari agent and find out what they were offering.

Gatt was another person who he’d met before but didn’t know well. He brought Cassandra and Varric along to the meeting so that they would have witnesses, but it still felt good to be something closer to himself again.

Even when they were fighting Venatori, he felt happy, almost relaxed. He was helping the Qun directly and he’d be able to work with them more openly from now on. The good feeling lasted until they saw the Venatori on the cliffs, heading toward the Chargers. 

Hissrad was frozen, obviously hesitant even though they both knew that he didn’t actually have a choice. _Free will is an illusion._

“You have to save the dreadnought!” His voice was frantic. He knew what this would do to Hissrad, but- he had no other choice. Neither of them did.

Hissrad never looked away from his men until the last of them were dead.

When it was over, he followed Hissrad back to the clearing where the Chargers’ bodies lay and helped Hissrad burn them, in the Southern tradition.

 

He got caught up in a War Council meeting when they arrived back at Skyhold. By the time he was able to get away to go to his room, Hissrad was already there, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He took off his boots and lay down next to him. Hissrad wordlessly lifted his arm to let him press against his side.

“I killed them.”

“The Venatori killed them.”

Hissrad made an irritated noise.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” 

They had both been corrupted by this place. He knew that Hissrad wasn’t being fully honest in his reports about how they were forming attachments that they shouldn’t and _wanting_ things that they could never have, but he also knew that doing so would mean abandoning their mission. _We will make it through this_ , he told himself, _and then the Ben-Hassrath will decide what is to become of us._ He wasn’t sure how long they lay there holding each other.

It occurred to him later that he should have reported Hissrad to the Ben-Hassrath. He had wavered back on the Storm Coast and he might have even chosen to save his men over the dreadnought if he hadn’t been reminded of his duty. 

It probably wasn’t enough to justify bringing Hissrad in and sending another agent, and it would be dangerous for him to contact the Ben-Hassrath directly. He put it off for a week, and then two weeks, and then at that point it seemed like an unnecessary risk.

Hissrad wrote letters to the Chargers’ next-of-kin. Most of them had been in at least occasional contact with their families (except for Dalish, whose clan had assumed that she died years ago) but he couldn’t seem to find any information about Krem’s father. All he knew was what Krem had told him, that his father had sold himself into slavery a long time ago and he hadn’t been able to contact him since then.

With the “alliance” in place, they were able to openly receive more intelligence from the Ben-Hassrath. Hissrad worked harder and all but stopped laughing. It should have been a victory for both the Qunari and the Inquisition, but he could tell that something had broken inside of Hissrad.

 

He tried to be civil to Garrett Hawke because that’s what Inquisitor Trevelyan would have done, but it was hard not to think about how the Champion of Kirkwall was a mage who, if Varric was to be believed, not only dabbled in blood magic but had been involved with the thief who stole the Tome of Koslun. It was probably for the best that Hawke offered to stay behind in the Fade.

He may very well have made himself vulnerable to demonic influence by drinking from the Well of Sorrows but it was better than letting the power-hungry witch anywhere near it.

When asked who he supported as the next Divine, he chose Cassandra. She was a good person and they might have even been friends under different circumstances. She was also the most traditional candidate. Her plan seemed to be focused on continuing things more-or-less as usual, except without the widespread corruption. He judged that this would make it easier for the Qunari to know what to expect.

When Corypheus was finally defeated, he assumed that he would be ordered to either step down as Inquisitor or disband the Inquisition altogether, but Hissrad told him that the Ben-Hassrath wanted him to stay where he was for the time being. “I don’t know the details” Hissrad said, “but there’s something big coming.” 

They sealed the rest of the rifts and killed the rest of the high dragons. He and Hissrad celebrated with drinks after each dragon-slaying, but they never kissed each other again.

 

As instructed, he encouraged Josephine to contact Ferelden and Orlais and suggest an Exalted Council as a way to resolve the growing tensions between the two nations and the Inquisition. It was to be as large and with as many important guests as possible. 

The mission, code name Dragon’s Breath, was larger and more secret than anything else he’d been involved in, even his role as the Inquisitor. If they were discovered or if the plan failed, Hissrad was to say that he’d had no idea what was going on and that it was the work of a small rogue faction that was not endorsed by the Triumverate.

Hissrad joined him in his room the night before they were scheduled to depart for the Exalted Council. “Is everything ready?” he asked.

“I think so.” Most of the people who had joined the Inquisition over the past two years—servants, soldiers, even some of Leliana’s spies—had been Qunari. The Exalted Council was going to include as many influential political and religious figures as possible, and he’d made sure that the Inquisition’s supply manifest included dozens of barrels that were full of gaatlok. He didn’t know the details, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what was going to happen. “It’s going to be like the explosion at the Conclave, isn’t it?” 

“You having doubts?”

“No, of course not!” he said, too quickly. He was about to say something else, possibly about how doubt is the path one walks to reach faith, when he was nearly doubled over in pain. “Shit…” He squeezed his hands together even though it didn’t do anything to lessen the pain. The Anchor in his hand flashed, each burst of light feeling a knife stabbing through him.

“Want me to find you some whiskey?” It didn’t make the pain any better, but getting drunk usually distracted him.

“No, just- stay with me tonight?” Even his voice sounded weak.

“No problem. Let me know if I can help with anything, okay?”

 

At the Winter Palace, he made a show of going back and forth and reconnecting with people, so that nobody would notice he was gone while he was helping the other agents bring in gaatlok barrels. He and Hissrad were supposed to stay undercover as long as possible and then escape right before the explosion. As anxious as he was about everything that was going to happen, it was surprisingly nice to talk to some of his former team again. Everything seemed to be going to plan until the dead Qunari was discovered.

“What _happened_?!” he asked Hissrad. 

“They’re saying something about agents of Fen’Harel.” 

“Wasn’t that one of the elven gods?” He suddenly wished that he’d paid more attention when he was at the Temple of Mythal two years ago.

Hissrad shrugged. “Might just be a code name, but it sounds like there are a lot of them. The only thing we know so far is that they’re all elves.”

“That _really_ doesn’t narrow it down,” he said, wincing as his hand flashed for at least the tenth time that morning. Most of the Qunari agents in the Inquisition were elves, specifically because elves could move among nobility and be almost invisible. Apparently the agents of Fen’Harel were thinking along the same lines. 

“The Ben-Hassrath planned for the Orlesians, the Fereldens, the Inquisition, the Chantry, and even the possibility that Briala’s people would show up, but we didn’t take these assholes into account.”

“We have to figure out what’s going on.”

“Right behind you.”

They followed a trail of blood through a mirror, like the one that the witch had shown him, but this one led to ruins with more mirrors and more slaughtered Qunari. He stepped over their bodies carefully, not wanting to look closely enough to see if he recognized any of them. The worst were the ones who had been turned to stone, frozen with expressions of terror on their faces. He resolved to avenge them by stopping the agents of Fen’Harel and completing their mission. 

The Qunari soldiers who met them in the sanctuary showed him how to use the magic in the statue to open a secret passageway. They knew even less about what was going on than he and Hissrad did, but they warned him to look out for the agent of Fen’Harel and his strange, powerful magic. He dismissed the pictures on the walls and stories about Fen’Harel as superstitious nonsense, but Hissrad seemed interested in studying them for potential information about their enemy. 

 

The path led them into the Deep Roads, of all places. In the low light, it took him a while to recognize a man who he’d worked with briefly while he was in Par Vollen.

“Of course I would run into the bloody Inquisitor-” he cursed under his breath. “Actually, you’re quite possibly the only person who can stop this. You do realize how large this is, don’t you? It isn’t just the Winter Palace. There are gaatlok barrels all over the Free Marches and the palace in Denerim is full of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d found a way into Nevarra, either.”

“What do you mean, stop this?” He knew perfectly well that this man was apparently a traitor who expected him to follow suit, but something in his mind screamed at him to hear him out and at least find out what he knew.

“Viddasala has been doing dangerous experiments with magic, studying the Veil and processing lyrium to give to their saarebas. This isn’t what I joined the Qun for. This mine is their only source of lyrium, but you could prime the gaatlok barrels and detonate them and flood the whole thing.”

“We can get help for you, but you’ll need to come with us.” His mind had probably been addled from stress. He most likely needed re-education.

“Inquisitor, Tallis, whoever you are- please listen to me!”

“I’m listening, I promise.” He’d slipped back into the cadence he used while he was undercover. “We’re just trying to help.”

He drew his sword. “I’m not afraid to die but I won’t let them take me.” He stepped forward, swinging wildly, obviously not intending to actually put up a fight but making himself dangerous enough to force them to act. 

Hissrad sighed before slicing through his neck. 

They were silent as they left the Deep Roads and made their way back through the mirrors. He thought about the man- former templar, former Qunari, now just a tragic waste of skills and experience. He thought about Cassandra, who would die in an explosion just as the Divine before her did. They had never been allies but it almost felt like they were friends, and she’d saved his life several times. Her loyalty and determination, the same traits that would have made her a good Qunari, were going to lead her to die defending her faith, and it was hard not to think of it as even more of a senseless waste.

This wasn’t just a strike against Orlais, or a show of force to intimidate them. It was going to be an _annihilation_. He’d known that this was coming, but he always thought that it would never happen during his lifetime.

He’d joined the Qun to get away from senseless cruelty and violence but he was Tallis, assassin. Cruelty was his role, his purpose.

_Struggle is an illusion._

 

They arrived back at the Winter Palace and found that Leliana was visibly concerned, which meant that she must be frantic with worry. She didn’t know everything about Dragon’s Breath yet but she knew almost as much as he did. He pretended to be just as worried as she was, which wasn’t actually that much of a stretch. 

Nothing was going the way it should have been. It probably would have been over by now if the agents of Fen’Harel hadn’t tried to ruin everything-

No. He couldn’t ignore the fact that the Qun was working with dangerous magic and planning to kill hundreds, of not thousands of people, including many who’d been kind to him and thought of him as their friend-

“What’s wrong?” Hissrad asked quietly.

“Everything.” He’d meant it to be sarcastic but his voice sounded sad.

“No shit.”

 

They went back through the mirrors and found themselves in yet another ruin, with more demons and strange magic and more ancient elven heresy. They followed a path strewn with more Qunari soldiers who had died from some kind of powerful magic.

His hand was getting worse. He realized that he might not live to see the South fall to the Qun because his hand might very well kill him before it happened. His last act before he died would be mass murder.

The demons were vicious opponents and they were both exhausted and shaky from too many health potions by the time they caught up with Viddasala. She stood her ground but she let them approach. 

“Why are you here?” she asked. “You’re not supposed to be going through the eluvians yet. You allowed the Inquisition to become corrupted by the agent of Fen’Harel and you can’t even be trusted to watch them?”

He stared up at her, not trying to hide his anger. “The Inquisition sent me here,” he spat out, “because someone tipped them off about a Qunari invasion.” 

The Anchor crackled and flared, and he tried not to wince visibly. Viddasala glared at him. “Go back to the Palace and wait,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child.

He thought about how Leliana was getting close to figuring out everything, and how she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him when she did. He realized that he wasn’t afraid of dying, but he would rather not be killed by Leliana and he would really prefer to not be killed by his own hand.

“The Inquisition almost knows more about your research than I do.” He stepped in front of Hissrad and walked forward until he was directly in front of Viddasala, close enough to touch her. “You’ve been conducting dangerous experiments that could put all of us at risk. I need to know more about what you’re doing.” His false bravado was betrayed by the way he nervously fidgeted with his hands, which allowed him to get a dagger ready in his palm. 

Viddasala opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off with a soft “Kadan, I’m sorry.” He jerked his head to the side as he said it but he never looked away from her as he thrust the dagger up, underneath her armor and between her ribs. 

He waited for the blow from Hissrad to cut him down, but it never came. Instead, one of Viddasala’s soldiers lunged at him from the side but he moved away in time for Hissrad to bring his axe down on the soldier.

Viddasala yelled something unintelligible, full of anger and pain. He barely managed to get out of the way before someone else tried to attack him. He and Hissrad made quick work of the rest of the troops, but Viddasala escaped through the mirror before they could finish her.

When the dust settled, he realized that he and Hissrad were standing over the bodies of Qunari that they had just murdered. “Yeah, I’m sorry too,” Hissrad muttered.

“What- what are we doing?!” he asked, more of an exclamation than an actual question.

Hissrad put a hand on his shoulder. The pressure grounded him and made him feel more calm. He thought for a wild moment that Hissrad was going to kiss him, but he just said “We’re going to stop this.”

After that, it was surprisingly easy. They didn’t talk about what he’d meant when he said _kadan_ , or the fact that they were Tal-Vashoth now. They didn’t talk at all, they just made their way through the eluvians. One of the demons had said that Viddasala was going to the Darvaraad, and it was a sign of how bad this whole situation was that he trusted it without a second thought. For the first time in months, he wasn’t worried about his hand because he knew that it was going to be okay in the end.

He stepped out of the mirror into the Winter Palace, only to be greeted by a crowd of Inquisition soldiers pointing swords at them.

He just rolled his eyes while Hissrad calmly asked “Is there a problem?”

“You’ve been working for the Qun since the beginning.” It was Leliana’s voice, even though he couldn’t see her behind all of the soldiers.

“Took you long enough,” he said irritably. “Since you’re so slow on the uptake, you probably haven’t realized that we betrayed the Qunari and they’re trying to kill us now. I’ll happily tell you everything I know but if you’re going to kill me, you might as well wait a few days because my hand will probably save you the trouble.”

They were marched away from the mirror, with several swords and a few arrows and at least one staff pointing at them. “There’s gaatlok all over Thedas,” he said.

“I know that.” He could see Leliana now but he couldn’t read anything on her face.

“I can show you on a map where all of the barrels are in the Winter Palace. There’s a lyrium mine in the Deep Roads that you can access through the eluvians- it’s the Qunari’s only source of lyrium but it’s possible to detonate the gaatlok barrels and flood the whole place.”

“Go on.”

“Viddasala—she’s the one in charge of all of this—is at a gaatlok factory called The Darvaraad. You can reach it through the eluvians. I stabbed her earlier but they’ve probably managed to heal her by now. We were going to restock our potions and head over there to try to kill her, but you’re welcome to come with us.”

They were led to a room with the rest of the War Council. “He hasn’t denied anything,” Leliana said. “In fact, he’s given us information that may be useful, but he seems to think that he’ll be allowed to walk out of here.” Her expression was cold.

“Look, if we’re going to stop this we have to act _now_. Again, you’re welcome to kill me if I’m still alive by the time this is over.”

“Is his accent different now?” Josephine asked. She looked as if she could scarcely believe what was happening. 

“Somebody needs to go into the Davaraad and stop them. The two of us are willing to do it, but if you don’t trust us you’re welcome to do it yourselves.”

“You’re very flippant for someone who was just exposed as a spy.” It was Cassandra this time. He’d seen her angry before and he’d always feared for the day that it would be directed at him, but he never expected her to look so _disappointed_.

“Believe it or not, maintaining my cover with the Inquisition is not exactly my top priority right now.” 

This led to another round of arguing when Cassandra finally yelled “Enough!” All the heads in the room turned to look at her. “If they wish to go back through the eluvians, I will go with them.”

“But, Your Holiness-”

“The Inquisitor is right about one thing: we do not have time to argue.” 

“Excellent,” he said, ignoring the glares from the soldiers who still had their weapons pointed at him. “Does anyone else want to join us?”

“Yeah, I’m in.” It was Sera, coming in through the door that Leliana had definitely locked behind them. She was scowling at him. 

“Sera, I would be honored to have you fight alongside me.” He he could hear his voice starting to slip back into the one he’d been using for the past few years.

“Shut it, I just want to be the one to shoot you when you turn on us again.”

 

Finally, Leliana agreed to send people to safely remove all of the gaatlok barrels and destroy the lyrium mine while he went back into the Crossroads to face Viddasala. He was glad to have a full team this time because the Qunari were waiting for them. If Sera and Cassandra hadn’t been convinced that he had turned against the Qun, they must have believed it once they saw a room full of Qunari troops try to kill them with a ferocity that went beyond following orders. _Bas_ was the last vulgar insult that was shouted at him, but it hurt the most. 

“Do you believe me now?” he asked after a fight where two of their opponents had gotten close enough to spit in his face.

Sera scoffed. “Doesn’t change what you did.”

When they caught up with Viddasala, he saw that her abdomen was bandaged and she was walking more slowly than usual, but she was still either strong enough or stubborn enough to stay on the front lines until her mission was complete. Once again, she managed to escape before they could kill her.

For the first time ever, they let a dragon go free. It seemed like the right thing to do for reasons that neither of them could articulate. 

Saarath was possibly the only one who didn’t seem affected by their betrayal. It wasn’t much of a surprise when he broke his chains and turned against Viddasala himself. He thought that this was a perfect example of why using mages to do ill-advised magical research was a very bad idea. 

His hand had turned into some kind of explosive weapon. It hurt to discharge the Anchor, but it hurt even more when he let it build up until it burst and sent out a blast that injured everybody nearby. He quickly realized that the best strategy was to let himself get surrounded and then discharge his hand, like some kind of human bomb. If his hand was going to kill him, the least he could do was to take out as many Qunari as possible along with him.

To think that he’d once been praised for his stealth.

 

He’d always known that he couldn’t trust Solas. He should have killed him when he had the chance. He was tempted to attack Solas right there in the ruins, but he remembered what Solas had been able to do to Viddasala.

“You’ve been busy,” Solas said. 

“So have you, apparently.” 

“Tallis, was it?”

“How long have you known?”

“I had no idea that you were capable of such subtlety. I didn’t even suspect you until long after I left the Inquisition.” Solas’ expression was impressed, but in a patronizing way that made him want to stab him.

“If you’ve been watching, you’ll know that I changed my mind because I couldn’t bring myself to commit mass murder. There’s no reason why you can’t do the same.” He didn’t know why he was trying to reason with him. Never mind being possessed, Solas was probably an actual demon who had disguised his appearance.

“This situation is considerably more complex. It’s not equivalent.” 

“That’s what everybody tells themselves.” He sighed. “You do realize that I’ll be obligated to hunt you now, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t do anything less, if our roles were reversed.” He flinched when Solas grabbed his hand, but whatever he was doing didn’t hurt any more than the pain he’d been experiencing for the past few months. There was stinging sensation and a feeling of intense pressure before he lost consciousness. 

 

When he woke, he was back at the Winter Palace, lying on a bed. What was left of his arm was wrapped in bandages. He tried to move and groaned as pain shot through his body.

Hissrad appeared at his side almost instantly. “Here, drink this.” He held a potion bottle to his mouth and gently poured it until he’d managed to drink the whole thing. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” He winced at the taste of the potion. “What happened?”

“Solas took the Anchor out of your hand and disappeared somewhere. Nobody can find him. The good news is that you’re not dying anymore, but the bad news is that you lost about half of your arm.”

“Ugh.” 

“It’ll heal, but it won’t be fast or comfortable. Too bad Stitches isn’t here…” he trailed off, looking at something in the distance.

“What happened with the Exalted Council?”

“They’re in recess until you’re able to participate, or until they get impatient enough to push forward without you.”

He’d been hoping that it was over by now. “Does Leliana still want to kill me?”

“There’s been talk of executing you or locking you up, but most people only know you as the brave Inquisitor who risked your life to stop the Qunari invasion. At this point, they’re just trying to avoid starting an even bigger scandal.”

“And we’re Tal-Vashoth now. Or you are, and I’m just a bas.”

“Yeah.” Hissrad frowned. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Do you?”

He shook his head.

“So, do I call you The Iron Bull now?”

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind if you called me ‘kadan’ again, either.”

He felt embarrassed at the memory and groaned again. “Sorry about that. I honestly thought that one or both of us wouldn’t live to have this conversation.”

“Don’t worry about it. What do you want me to call you?”

“Soren, I suppose. Just Soren. No last name, no titles. I think I’m finished with all of that.”

“All right.” He paused for a moment before saying “Get some more rest. I’ll go tell them that you’re conscious, but you're not exactly ready for public appearances.” He turned to walk out of the room.

“Wait, Hissrad!… Er, Iron Bull.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me?”

He paused, and a grin started to spread over his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” Bull walked back to the bed and leaned over, making him-- _Soren_ , his name was _Soren_ \--very aware of how huge he was. 

The kiss was as wonderful as he remembered and surprisingly gentle. He tried to sit up, but a stab of pain in his arm stopped him. “Shit.” He sank back against the bed.

Bull shifted so that he could climb onto the bed and hover over him. “This is easier on my back, anyway.” He held himself up so that he wasn’t putting any pressure on Soren’s body, but Soren could swear that he felt Bull’s cock hardening against his leg. He shifted his leg to rub against it.

“Mmm, yeah. I’ll take care of you.” Bull sat up on his knees, careful to not put any weight on Soren’s body. He pulled down the blanket to reveal Soren’s own erection. Soren tried to lean up again, but Bull held him down with one hand. “Don’t get any ideas about trying to move too much. You’ll just injure yourself worse.” He fingered the buttons on Soren’s pants. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t want me to do and I’ll stop, okay?”

His hand was _so close_. “Please don’t stop.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He slowly unbuttoned Soren’s pants and pulled them down along with his underclothes. At this point, Soren was so hard that it almost hurt. 

He reached for the hem of Bull’s pants but Bull held him down against the bed with one hand pressing on his chest. “What did I say about not moving?” He was staring at Soren with a grin that made him shiver. “I can’t have you injuring yourself worse. There are so many things I want to do to you, but you need to heal first.”

“Oh _fuck_ …” He realized that he must look ridiculous, flushed and desperate and still healing from an amputation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Bull leaned down so that their faces were almost touching. “Now, I need you to be good and hold still for me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, please, anything-”

He took his hand off and sat up and Soren was about to protest when Bull shifted to the side of him so that he could bring his face down to Soren’s cock. It was awkward and crowded with both of them in the bed but he didn’t even notice it anymore when Bull’s mouth was on him. He bobbed his head a few times, carefully keeping his horns out of the way, and sucked on him until he was squirming and gasping with pleasure. He noticed Soren watching and he grinned around his dick.

“Yeah, keep going-” Soren could feel his hips shifting and trying to thrust up into Bull’s mouth. He was making soft, breathy noises that he couldn’t control. _Of course_ Bull was good at this, just like he was good at everything. It was even better than he’d ever allowed himself to fantasize about.

Bull pulled off of him so that he could lick Soren with long, teasing licks that made him whine and buck his hips up. He focused on the sensitive area under the head of Soren’s cock, then swallowed him all the way down like it was nothing. Soren clenched the bedspread with his right hand and realized that he was trying to grab onto it with his left hand as well. That was going to take some getting used to.

It wasn’t long before he came with almost no warning, just a garbled murmur that Bull somehow understood. He flashed Soren another grin and sucked him down in earnest until he came so hard that he almost passed out. 

While he was lying there in a daze afterward, Bull sat back on his knees and shoved his own pants down. His dick was swollen and leaking, his gray skin almost purple with arousal. He grunted as he wrapped a hand around himself. 

Bull started to jerk himself off with quick, rough strokes. He stared intently at Soren’s body. “Shit, I can still taste you. You taste even better than you look.” The movement of his hand was frantic. “I really want to come on you.”

“Yes,” Soren said, still a little bit dazed.

“Lift your shirt up.”

Soren rushed to comply, pulling his shirt up as far as he could without moving his left arm.

“Yeah, like that. You look amazing, kadan.” With another grunt, he leaned forward to spill himself all over Soren’s stomach. 

Bull cleaned both of them off and checked to make sure that Soren didn’t actually need anything else before he left to update the Council.

Less than 48 hours later, the Inquisition had been disbanded.

 

Soren and Bull were advised to leave as soon as he was healthy enough to travel—Cullen’s exact words were “Get out of my sight before I change my mind”—so he bought a crossbow that he could load and shoot one-handed and they headed north.

Neither of them went savage, but that didn’t stop the Qun from sending assassins after them. Soren remembered going after deserters in the past and felt guilty for killing them, but Bull didn’t.

They tracked down Krem’s father and paid a lot of money for him to be freed. Bull stayed at the border while Soren met with him and explained that his son had died fighting the Venatori. “He was brave to the end,” Soren said. He gave him as much money as they could spare and implied that it was something like a pension, so that he could go into business for himself. Aclassi looked like he was about to cry as he thanked him.

Soren continued to resolutely ignore all of his family’s attempts to contact him, but he did travel to Rialto for a reunion with one of the few family members who hadn’t been asking him for favors. Else was heavier than she’d been as a teenager and her hair was starting to turn gray, but she looked healthier and more beautiful than she ever had before. She greeted him with a tight hug and insisted on paying for their dinner and lodging while they were in the city.

She didn’t stare at or comment on his arm, but she wasn’t shy about staring at Bull. “I can’t believe you have a Qunari lover,” she said, looking more amused than anything else. “Then again, you were always the weird one.” 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. She looked at him strangely. “When we were children, I always thought I should have been able to protect you, or- avenge you. I’ve regretted that ever since.”

Her expression was hard to read. They watched each other in silence for a moment. “I can’t believe you remember that,” she said softly. “It means a lot to know that someone was on my side, but I escaped all of that a long time ago. I’ve learned that spending your whole life trying to fight against your childhood isn’t any better than being a slave to it. You have to find your own path.”

“But how do you know what your path is?”

She smiled at him, the same look she used to give him when he was a boy and he’d learned how to read a new book. “If you’re anything like me, you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing until you make a mistake. Sometimes the hardest part is swallowing your pride.”

Their bed at the inn was small but clean. Bull fucked him slowly, almost gently, with a hand over his mouth because he could never manage to be quiet. 

 

It wasn’t hard to identify Leliana’s spies, because she’d been sending people to watch them ever since they left Orlais, but it was somewhat harder to intimidate them into passing a message back to her. “Solas threatens all of us,” he dictated. “We know you’re trying to stop him and we want to help you.”

Finally, he received instructions to go to a small Chantry on the outskirts of Orlais and pay a copper to light a candle. Light the third candle from the right, the messenger said, and he would receive further instructions.

“Why couldn’t you just give me the instructions?” Soren asked irritably, but they dutifully made their way to the Chantry.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Leliana herself. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, keeping his hand out in the open where she could see that he wasn’t trying to attack her.

“You lied to us for years. Why should we trust you?”

“I think we’ve both proved that we’re no longer affiliated with the Qun.” 

“Solas’ people are all elves,” Bull pointed out, “so unless you think we’re _really_ good at disguising ourselves-”

“Fine. I am not letting you near any sensitive information, but it will be easier to keep track of you if you’re close by.”

Soren and Bull followed her back to the secret meeting place where she periodically gathered with a few members of the former Inquisition and they joined, as themselves, for real this time.

Leliana never really trusted him but she gradually started to delegate more responsibility to him and even let him have access to classified information. He became more skilled with his crossbow. He and Bull occasionally traveled away from each other, but they were never apart for very long.

One year after the Inquisition was disbanded, he wrote a letter and signed it _Respectfully yours, Soren_ , and realized for the first time that it felt like himself.


End file.
